


The Mariner's Lesson

by Pumpkingirl



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Character Death In Dream, Fever Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Literary References & Allusions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pumpkingirl/pseuds/Pumpkingirl
Summary: Horatio is visited by a mysterious young man in his cabin who calls himself the Guest. In a short while a tale unfolds that makes Hornblower reflect on his present and past relationships.This story is based on Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem,The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story might make more sense if you read Coleridge's _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ first.
> 
> You can find the poem [here](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43997/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner-text-of-1834).
> 
> Huge thank you to asdfcrazyghjk from tumblr for the beta work!
> 
> Happy reading! :)

Captain Horatio Hornblower woke with a bad taste in his mouth and a peculiar ache all over his body. He had yet to open his eyes, but it seemed a laborious task; as if his body had conspired with his mind to lure him away from the act of waking, to spare him the pain of consciousness. He must have had a temperature. His nightgown was soaked to his body and his sheets hugged him like fire embraces logs in a furnace.

At last his eyes were charmed open by a noise: a young man entered his little cabin. On every journey he took, after a few weeks spent on the sea together Hornblower usually knew every soul on his ship, but despite having been out on the open sea for over a month, this pale but kind-looking youth seemed to be a stranger to him. The fair-haired newcomer was swift on his feet as he closed the distance between door and bed and soon a curiously cold hand was lying on Hornblower’s forehead.

‘The fever is not gone yet,’ he remarked.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Hornblower. His voice was so hoarse, the ‘you’ never actually left his mouth.

He was surprised by the confident intimacy the man dared to show towards his Captain. He couldn’t have been more than a mere hand on the ship and as such he had no business in his Captain’s quarters, let alone around his bed. 

But as the face hovered over him for a moment, something brushed the edge of recognition in Hornblower's mind. It wasn’t the face, it was the brightness that sat on it and the solace it brought. He trusted this face, he trusted the hand on his forehead. He also realized this man wasn’t part of his crew, yet he belonged here.

‘Don’t you know me?’ asked the stranger, a bit hurt. He withdrew his hand and straightened up, looking down at Hornblower questioningly.

‘I think I do.’ Hornblower gave in. ‘But not here. Not right now.’

‘The fever is not gone yet,’ repeated the youth, as if it were the explanation for everything.

‘Would you tell me your name?’ Hornblower asked politely. He didn’t know why he felt the need to be courteous with this subordinate of his, but he gave in to his intuition.

‘They call me the Guest,’ smiled the other.

 _What an odd name_ , thought Hornblower, but he didn’t have time to open his mouth again, because the Guest spoke:

‘What about you? Do you know who _you_ are? Do you know what happened?’

Hornblower knew who he was, but the other question was a tricky one. Something happened. Suddenly an unpleasant memory started clawing at his soul and he wanted to cry out from the emotional pain it caused… He had an urge to scream, but if he had succumbed to it, the dead would have woken up, so he had to do the second best thing: he had to talk.

‘I dreamed’ he said. ‘Let me tell you my dream.’

The Guest nodded, and so Hornblower began.

_"He holds him with his glittering eye—_

_The Wedding-Guest stood still,_

_And listens like a three years' child:_

_The Mariner hath his will."_

 

_"And now there came both mist and snow,_

_And it grew wondrous cold:_

_And ice, mast-high, came floating by,_

_As green as emerald."_

_…_

_"And a good south wind sprung up behind;_

_The Albatross did follow,_

_And every day, for food or play,_

_Came to the mariner's hollo!"_

 

_It was the dead of winter and the air was icy cold, it pinched every man’s cheek rosy red. The snow was falling, but there was no wind; the ship rested on the water like a hatchling in its nest, waiting to be fed. For days and days we waited and silently prayed for a breeze, but God seemed to have forgotten us. We were lost on the wide sea._

_After a week the bird came. It already perched on the railing when I arrived on deck that day, on the day when the wind started to blow. It welcomed me there every dawn for days to come and I marveled at its beauty – I’d never seen an albatross from so short a distance. First, I didn’t dare go near him lest I scare him away, like every man on the ship did who had work near the railing. I had my walk on deck every morning as usual and walked past it, stealing glances at it and it waited until my walk was done. It always gave a squeak before it left._

_The men were happy, for the ship was on the move and they praised the bird for it. He became a constant presence on the ship, a loyal companion of mine on my morning walks; he didn’t just sit any more, he flew around the ship, keeping me company. I found myself drawn to him, I wished to understand his language, I longed to touch his shiny feathers._

_Soon my wish was granted, for he let me close, this unpredictable maverick of the sea. I fed him fish that my men had caught and he let me stroke his soft wings while he ate. The tips of my fingers had never known such bliss, neither had my heart. Each morning after he left I thought I understood his squeak better._

_Then one day a storm came and it brought him on its back. His screaming was louder than any thunder. The violent wind got hold of him and, treating him like some kind of plaything, tossed him about above our heads. At last the cruel gale threw him against the sail and he got tangled in the rigging. He cried and fought to break free but his struggle resulted in long rips in the reef above._

_The men stared at me and waited for me to act. I only had eye for the bird…_

Hornblower stopped for a moment and tried to catch his breath.

‘Do you know what happened?’ asked the Guest again.

Hornblower felt faint for a moment, even though he was lying in bed. His eyes widened and he looked at the Guest with a horror-stricken face.

‘I do,’ he whispered.

_"God save thee, ancient Mariner!_

_From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—_

_Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow_

_I shot the ALBATROSS."_

**_…_ **

_"And the good south wind still blew behind,_

_But no sweet bird did follow,_

_Nor any day for food or play_

_Came to the mariner's hollo!"_

 

‘Where is he? Where is Bush?’ he breathed. His deep blue eyes were suddenly filled with desperation and just a little hint of madness. He made a weak effort to sit up, but the Guest pushed him back by his shoulders.

‘He rests. He’s unconscious, but he’s still with us.’ The young man tried to soothe him.

Hornblower felt inconsolable. Of course, it wasn’t a dream, however much his feverish mind preferred remembering it as such. He forced himself to recall the true events now, letting the pain flow through him, letting it devour him if it must. He deserved it after all.

***

It was the dead of winter and the air was icy cold, it pinched every man’s cheek rosy red. The ship was stuck on the water, it refused to move even an inch without the gentle persuasion of its only lord, the wind. The crew complained more and more as the days flew by for having to face the elements with bare hands and bare neck every day, since only a few of them owned clothes that fit that dreadful weather.

Bush spent as much time on deck as any other man, but never a curse left his lips. Hornblower and he gravitated around each other more than ever before. The Captain needed silent reassurance that their current sad situation wouldn’t last forever and Mr. Bush’s presence alone was enough to make him look at the future a tad bit less cloudily. They’d survived so many tough adventures together after all; what was a little stagnation if they could face it together? Hornblower enjoyed Bush’s company, even if it only meant standing near him and looking out over the water by his side. Horatio wasn’t exactly a man of many words anyway.

He didn’t know why Bush sought him out as often as he did, but it was evident that he too felt a strong need to trod in his wake all the time. Recently he developed the habit of waiting for Horatio on deck every morning when he first mounted the stairs. The Captain liked to drank in the view of Bush’s profile at dawn when he had his first glimpse of him leaning on the railing, staring out to sea.

Hornblower couldn’t help but grow tender and soft around Bush as he eased into their slowly changing relationship and he relished every moment of the time they spent together. He often thought about Archie those days, wondered what he would say and came to the conclusion that he would only ever want him to be happy.

Something else changed as well. On the very day Bush first waited for him on deck, the wind arrived.

***

When he first took Bush’s hand in his, it was pale as ice and red like the reddest rose along the cracks where the blood sat congealed and angry. It was too cold for it to flow. Hornblower kissed the hand and somehow managed to turn the key in the lock before Bush’s lips sealed his. A whirlwind swept through the tiny room and it led them to a safe haven, from where the cold was completely shut out – there was only skin and warmth. The tips of Hornblower’s fingers had never known such bliss, neither had his heart.

First they were cautious and silent in their passion, but hungry nonetheless and they succumbed to it in the ungodly hours when the world’s eye was blind to them. Soon enough though, Hornblower felt there was no harmony anymore without William’s fingers in his hair, without the man’s beating heart shielding his and they became more daring, welcoming even the Sun as audience to their tryst against Horatio’s tiny window. Horatio treasured William’s words, perhaps even more than the closeness of his body, because they were wise and brave and loving, they blanketed the ever-lonely Captain and convinced him he was safe. Yet in the end, words were their undoing.

The storm started with a name: Archie. William confessed he’d loved Kennedy. They had met in secret, they had moved together, their bodies mirroring each other’s helpless tremors. Many dark corners of the _Renown_ witnessed their embraces. William said he wanted Horatio to know, because it lifted a weight off his chest, but Hornblower didn’t want to hear of it. He must have known before. _Why didn’t Archie tell him? Did he care about him at all?_ He sent Bush away with harsh words and was left alone to deal with the green-eyed jealousy that swallowed him whole.

That’s why he sent Bush up the ropes later that day. Hornblower needed to show a new recruit that even the officers were fresh hands once, and so had to climb. The young rogue refused to ascend no matter how much they’d beaten or threatened him. The Captain wagered the youth would change his mind once an example was set.

Hornblower knew Bush hated to climb, but he called his name anyway. He wanted to take him to task for what he did, for lying to him, for hurting him. When he gave the command, Bush tried to reason with him; he called him aside and showed him the same sore and bloody hands Horatio lavished with kisses every night for the past two weeks.

‘I’ve been out all day, my hands are too numb. I can barely grip with them,’ Bush explained. ‘With respect Captain, you should send someone else.’

‘I gave _you_ the command, William,’ Hornblower hissed at him. ‘You will obey.’

Bush simply nodded and set to the task in front of him.

He climbed higher than he should have. It was a nasty fall. And it was all Hornblower’s fault…


	2. Chapter 2

‘I need to see him!’ Horatio was determined to leave the bed this time, but once he attempted to stand, his legs failed him utterly. The Guest caught him, Hornblower’s face was buried in his pristine white shirt for a moment, before the young man dragged his useless body back on the bed.

‘You are too weak to walk around,’ the Guest chided him. Then he added, perhaps to ease his mind: ‘He’s sleeping. He’s not hurting.’

Hornblower recalled the thump he heard the moment William landed on the boards and he shuddered at the memory. He could see the dear man’s broken body before his mind’s eye now: the arm that lay in a sick angle and the ever-growing pool of blood that spread like a halo under his head. He was haunted by these images and his own body seemed to grow even hotter now that he became freshly aware of what he had done.

The Guest leaned over him, but didn’t touch him this time. He seemed to be observing him, his face, his eyes, his thoughts even; Hornblower all at once had this uneasy feeling that he could somehow look inside his head. He had to tear his eyes from the Guest’s to guard his secrets and so he lowered his gaze; that’s when he discovered a dark blotch on the youth’s shirt.

‘Is that….?’ he started to ask.

‘Blood.’ The Guest immediately verified his suspicion when he followed his glance. ‘Yours,’ he nodded towards Horatio’s face with his head.

Hornblower touched the delicate skin under his nose and when he pulled his fingers away, they were painted red. He licked his lips and he could taste the steely tang. His pulse was drumming in his head, so buried his forehead in his hands to ease the pain with pressure.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ he questioned his companion.

‘A ship came four days ago…’ the Guest tried to help.

‘Yes, the ship!’ Hornblower exclaimed being struck by enlightenment. ‘The other ship… it was in my dream!’

He started to speak again in feverish excitement.

***

_"At first it seemed a little speck,_

_And then it seemed a mist;_

_It moved and moved, and took at last_

_A certain shape, I wist."_

 

_"Her_ _lips were red, her looks were free,_

_Her locks were yellow as gold:_

_Her skin was as white as leprosy,_

_The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,_

_Who thicks man's blood with cold."_

  _At first it was but a blot on the horizon, which grew into a mystery. It was heading straight for us, but it wore no flag, nor any other indicator to its origin. This should have made me wary in itself,_ _but I didn't even consider_ _slipping out of its path._

_Every man stopped and stared up at the mate in the basket with their mouths agape when he reported he couldn’t see a soul on the deck of the vessel._

_The man who steered the ship must have been hitherto hidden by the mast and if the deck wasn’t swarming with people, I thought, the belly must have contained all of them. My mind was busy finding possible explanations for an empty deck: the Captain must be holding an all-men assembly or there can be some kind of celebration: a wedding or a victory perhaps. The ship wasn’t too large, it could have only born a relatively small crew – this fact also supported the possibility of all the men being below deck at the same time._

_I quickly assembled a small party to investigate. No one answered our shouts when we neared the strange ship with the boat, but a rope ladder was hanging free on the side, inviting us up. The little mate was right, there was not a single person on deck, no one at the wheel either. By that time, the ship wasn’t moving, it had stopped some distance from the Lydia._

_I gave the command to search the quarters below, we entered the belly of the beast and tried to find someone – anyone – without luck. The ship seemed to be completely deserted. I sent the men to spread around and examine every space on the vessel to the last speck, hoping they would find something that would lead us to the solution of the missing crew’s mystery. I myself headed to the captain’s cabin._

_That’s where I met her; the ghost, the demon, the woman. No one was there when I first looked, but once I stepped inside, the door flew shot behind me. Startled by the noise I turned my head, and when I pulled my gaze back towards the center of the room, there she stood. She wore a long, stained white dress and hummed to herself softly until she lifted her eyes to meet mine. Then she smiled; the eerie curve sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t like how she stared at me, I didn’t like that mad hunger in her eyes._

_‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘Where is the captain? Where are the men?’_

_But she breathed only this:_

_‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’_

_Distressed at the thought that the woman must be mad, I took a step back – in vain, for she immediately took one towards me._

_‘What are you talking about, Madam?’ I tried. ‘What have you won?’_

_By the time I realized that I may not have wanted to know the answer to my question, she was already upon me. She possessed incredible strength for a woman: she pushed me up against the door and kissed me hard on the mouth before I could have resisted in any way. Her mouth tasted foul and my whole body objected to her touch. I tried to force her off me, but it was only a few seconds later that she deigned to let me go and not before she whispered the answer to my previous question in my ear:_

_‘You, you silly boy. I’ve won you.’_

_‘Who are you?’ I managed to ask even though I’d been afraid my voice would fail me._

_‘Life. in. Death.’ The three words rolled off her tongue sharply, like a curse; like a verdict._

_She laughed after that, in a screeching voice that almost made my head split. My stomach heaved and I bent double retching in the corner of the small cabin. By the time I gathered myself together, she had disappeared._

_***_

_Our party arrived back on the Lydia without any result and we left the eerie ship to its lonely fate – I was convinced I had seen a ghost but I knew better than to tell anyone about my visitation. I was afraid my men would think me mad. It was only later that I found out_ _I wasn’t the only one to have_ _had a strange experience on the mysterious frigate._

_Whispered words were floating around among the men that accompanied the party: they talked about a man-shaped spectre that appeared in certain parts of the haunted ship. Some even said it reached out and attempted to touch them, but most of the time dissolved in the air before it could do so._

_The illness struck a couple of days after we left the frigate behind. A few of the men grew weak, they bled through their noses and ears and – eventually – died. In the following days, Death’s appetite just grew and grew…_

***

‘The men are dying…’ the young man sighed.

‘The ship…’ Horatio recalled it all now.

‘The crew was plagued’ the Guest confirmed. ‘We lost fifteen good men in the last couple of days while you were abed. And more are getting sick.’

The frigate that the sea dragged their way, the one they mounted, the one on which they only found death... The crew was infected with a horrible disease that was carried to the Lydia as well.

Hornblower’s heart sank at the news. ‘Am I dying?’ he asked seriously. He knew he would never be ready to face the answer if he didn’t get it straight away.

The young man seemed hesitant. He stood up and turned his back to Horatio for a moment. He reached back and started to undo the ribbon in his light hair, however, once he freed his locks his hand started working on redoing the tie immediately.

‘Would you answer my question…please?’ Hornblower tried to draw the Guest’s attention to him again.

The gentleman took his time arranging the ribbon in his hair, then, still turning away from him, took out his handkerchief. He coughed in it once, twice, put it back into his pocket and faced Horatio again.

‘Yes and no,’ he offered the answer gently.

‘Yes and no? What on earth does that mean?’ Hornblower asked, half laughing on his own misery and on the young man’s decision to play a joke on him in such an unfortunate time.

The Guest shrugged and pushed his hands in his pocket. ‘I’m not a doctor, you know. I cannot tell.’

Hornblower smiled at him, because his simple gestures of uncertainty – the shrug, the hands folded in his pockets, how he was replacing his weight from heel to toe – reminded him so much of someone who mattered. If only he could remember who that someone was...

‘Craig died two days ago,’ the Guest went on. Craig was the only doctor on the ship. ‘He didn’t get to take a look at you before his demise.’

‘God rest his soul,’ Hornblower sighed. ‘So we don’t know if I shall live, then.’ He pursed his lips, deep in thought. He wasn’t about to get any kind of answer it seemed. But he still had to know more about William. He didn’t care about himself as much as he did about the man who fell because of him. He had to see him, and he needed help to do that.

‘Would you accompany me to see Mr. Bush?’ he asked his associate politely. He waited eagerly for his answer.

‘You need bedrest,’ the Guest replied with his hands on his hips.

‘I will stay in bed after I see him’ Hornblower offered the deal without ceremony.

The young man must have seen the desperation in his eyes and he must have taken pity on him, since his arm was around his waist in a minute and he was helping him up from the pillows.

Walking proved to be a harder task than he would have thought. The fever clouded his mind and he felt as if he was a midshipman again who not yet gained his sea legs, for he staggered repeatedly and had to hold onto his support like he was holding on to dear life. But the Guest held him up steadily; there was surprising strength in his slight frame and Horatio trusted him to see him safely to William’s cabin.

He wondered if he was dying, but strangely he wasn’t scared of the thought.

‘Death must be peaceful,’ he murmured musingly to his companion as they were striding through the corridor.

‘In my dream, I couldn’t die you know.’ He tried to direct his mind to the continuance of his story to take the edge off the struggle of walking.

***

_"An orphan's curse would drag to hell_

_A spirit from on high;_

_But oh! more horrible than that_

_Is the curse in a dead man's eye!_

_Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,_

_And yet I could not die."_

  _They all died, one by one. We buried them in the beginning, gave all their bodies to the sea while there were able man to conduct the funerals; while there was a priest, while there were men left to mourn. Not for long, though. In the last days you could only hear moans and cries… those died down slowly too._

_I was the only one who didn’t get sick. I just watched them passing, one after the other and I tried to console them, but there was no one to console me. In the end I was left utterly alone, damned to wander on the bloody deck by myself. I was physically exhausted and so just left the corpses where they were. The food supply was running out by then, after idling in the ice for weeks and having to feed the sick amply for days on end._

_I didn’t have much to eat, not that I could have stomached a lot. I was waiting for something to happen, but the sea stretched a long way in all directions, I may as well have waited for a miracle. No ship crossed my way, and I didn’t hear any other sound than the water lapping at the side of my vessel for seven days. The sea appeared murky all around, I couldn’t see through it like before; no fish were visible and no bird graced the cloudy sky either._

_I was lost, trapped, shut together with the dead shells of the men I had cared so much about and each and every one of them blamed me for their deaths. Silent were their lips but so much more talkative their eyes: ‘It’s all your fault,’ their orbs transported the message better than their lips ever could have._

_I wished to die, I wanted to joined them, but there was no mercy for me. ‘I’ve won! I’ve won!’ I seemed to hear the voice of the strange woman from the deadly ship clearer and clearer as the days went by. Life in death indeed it was, and such a torture I wouldn’t wish for my worst enemy. Death became an idol, a God for me in those days; I prayed for him to come every day. I yearned for peace._

***

Styles was just leaving William’s cabin when they got there. He looked pale and he was sweating heavily. When he saw that he was facing his captain, his skin turned to an even whiter tone.

‘You should be sleeping, sir,’ he slurred and hurried to help the Guest holding him up.

‘I’m here to see Mr. Bush, Styles.’ He opted to avoid answering to his man’s observation. ‘How is he?’

‘Not well, sir’ Styles shook his head slowly. ‘He hit his head very hard and he won’t wake up.’ There was a sadness in the faithful servant’s voice.

‘Help me into the room,’ Horatio requested, and his wish was granted.

They left him after sitting him down on the bed to give him some privacy. William was lying there motionless, a white band of dressing ran around the crown of his head, hiding his injury.

Horatio bent down to leave a feather kiss on his lips. He didn’t react, his eyelids didn’t even flicker. The Captain rested his hand on the soft locks on the top of William’s head. He squeezed his lips into a thin line and tried to keep the tears from falling.

‘I’m so sorry, William. It is all my fault.’ He had to concentrate in order to breathe evenly. No sobs were allowed now; he wasn’t a child – he’d made a fatal mistake and he had to bear the consequences like a man.

He ran his palm over the days-old stubble on Bush’s face; no one bothered to give him a shave, even though they all must know he hated looking unkempt…

After minutes of observation, Hornblower decided his lover looked as if he were dead. When he placed his fingers in the curve of his neck and pushed down gently he could feel a pulse; however weak, it was there. Life. But, despite the presence of the heartbeat, the man wasn’t a least bit animated. William was all but gone.

‘Your fault, your fault…’ Hornblower started repeating all of a sudden and he hugged his sickly body, thus trying to ease the emotional and physical pain that threatened to tear him apart.

Out of nowhere came the ringing voice: ‘ _I’ve won! I’ve won!_ ’ He thought he heard the accompanying laughter with it.

Hornblower sat up suddenly and his eyes darted around the room. ‘Not him, not him!’ he shouted, his voice must have been heard all around the ship. ‘Let him go, you Witch, let him die if he must, but don’t touch him!’

He was sobbing now, letting it all out, throwing caution to the wind. The Guest came into the room with hurried steps, locked his reassuring arms around Hornblower and held him steadfast until the crying subsided.


	3. Chapter 3

‘You need rest’ the Guest announced as Horatio gave into the exhaustion on his shoulder.

‘Let me see my men’ the captain asked. ‘Now I can take anything. You said they are dying.’

‘They are’ the stranger nodded and kept on stroking Horatio’s curly locks.

‘I need to see them. You understand, don’t you?’

The youth lifted Horatio’s head carefully and looked him in the eyes. ‘You’ll be dead by tomorrow morning’ he announced with a tired smile, that suggested this might not be the worst news Horatio could have gotten.

Hornblower contemplated his words and nodded. ‘So I will be. I need to see my men.’

And so they went and sat together under the cloudy sky on a deck that was touched by death. There were some living around, but all were hanging by a thread. Horatio saw Styles for a moment again, the man could barely walk this time; he was a shadow of himself. Blood was trickling out of his ear.

And there were the dead, of course, silent and familiar. They were lying around, young and old, fat and lanky – no one was spared.

The Guest leant his head back against the heavy wooden side of the ship and sighed. ‘Not long now.’

‘Are you staying with me?’ Horatio asked him, his voice quivering a bit.

‘For a while, yes,’ the young man said.

They waited together in silence for what seemed to be hours. Horatio didn’t know what to say, he had no questions, his mind was clear but empty.

Matthews came with the news in the dead of the night. He looked dreadfully poorly; a fitting disposition for what he had to say.

‘Mr Bush died, Sir. I’m terribly sorry.’ Hornblower didn’t even have time to digest the news before Matthews dropped dead at his feet. His eyes were open but unseeing as he lay in front of Horatio. He jumped up to help him, but a hand on his shoulder kept him in place.

‘It’s fine now, he is going to be alright.’ The Guest’s voice was calm, consoling.

Horatio sat back and gave himself over to the pain. No arms were holding him this time, but the strangely cold side of his companion that was pushed against his torso reminded him that he wasn’t alone. By the small hours everyone was dead on the vessel, only the two of them kept a silent vigil.

Dawn broke the horizon and the first ray of sunshine unveiled a dismal scene on the ship.

‘He is a good man, you know.’ The young man’s voice was like a drop of water for Horatio who has been spending far too much time in the desert of his empty mind.

‘Who is?’ he asked, confused.

‘William,’ the Guest explained. ‘I didn’t tell you, because I was afraid you would leave me. I couldn’t risk losing you.’

Horatio shook his head, still not understanding what the Guest was saying.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, for God’s sakes Horatio, would you open your eyes at last?’ He was laughing, heartily – a profane sound that enveloped him and the dead as well.

The stranger pushed his hand in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out his handkerchief. The white material was stained with blood. His laughter turned into a choking cough and his chin was painted red as the blood ran out of his mouth in tiny streams.

Horatio could see it now and wondered how he was so blind.

‘I know your name,’ he told the young man while he wiped his mouth with the handkerchief.

‘I expect you do.’ Archie smacked him on the shoulder.

‘But… but… how can you be here? You died.’ Horatio asked, bemused.

‘ _There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio…_ ’ Archie quoted and he flashed a cheeky smile at him.

‘Oh, you…’ Horatio beamed back at him, and forgetting their tragic surroundings, he pulled Archie close. His lips were cold, but it was Archie; his smell, his taste, his touch. Horatio thought if this was heaven, God had a strange kind of humor.

Archie, although reluctantly, pulled away from him much sooner than Horatio would have liked.

‘We don’t have much time now,’ he warned.

‘Time before what?’ Hornblower demanded.

Archie showed his profile to him. ‘Until you die.’ It was a simple but a harsh reminder.

Hornblower couldn’t follow him. ‘What is this place?’ he wanted to know.

Archie shrugged his shoulders. ‘In between?’ It was more of a question than a statement.

‘I don’t want to die,’ Hornblower said, and he took Archie’s hand in his. ‘Not right now.’

‘Death _is_ peaceful, you know…’ Archie reassured him, reminding him of what Horatio himself told his friend mere hours before.

‘We don’t have more time. You must not be angry with him, Horatio. It wasn’t William’s fault. If it was anyone’s, it was mine. I should have told you, I should have…’ He paused, bowed his head and smiled his tired smile. ‘Please give him my greetings when you see him.’

‘Archie, you just said I’m about to die…’

‘Oh, am I not silly, Horatio?’ This time he was the one who planted a sweet kiss on Hornblower’s lips. The captain closed his eyes to appreciate the moment more. ‘Have I mentioned that death is peaceful? It’s just like falling asleep,’ Kennedy explained, and he was laughing again, his sweet merriment was ringing in Horatio’s ear. Then he was quoting something, this time not Shakespeare, so unlike Archie:

_’The man hath penance done,_

_And penance more will do.’_

By the time Hornblower opened his eyes he was alone on the ship, only the dead remained.

***

_Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,_

_Beloved from pole to pole!_

 

Archie wasn’t wrong about death, it is like going to sleep. He gives himself up to it just minutes after the man is gone. He is wrapped in a blanket of darkness, but the fever isn’t gone in death. It still rages through his system, still leaves him queasy and quivery. He is feeling uncomfortable now, as if he was underwater and the water is boiling around him. He is swimming upwards, he is working hard with his limbs to get himself above the surface… and at last he arrives.

 Horatio opens his eyes and he is in his cabin again. Death doesn’t seem to have much development on life. Someone stirs on the bed next to him and a white line floats into Hornblower’s vision. Someone calls his name.

 ‘… You are awake.’

 Horatio rubs his eyes and finally he is able to recognize the face on the pillow.

 ‘William!’ he hesitates to move, but the other man pulls him to his chest immediately. ‘You are alive…’ Hornblower whispers.

 ‘Of course I am! God, Horatio you had me fretting for days.’

 His head is bandaged, but he is very much alive, Horatio notes. He reaches for William’s head and lays a palm over the white material.

 William takes his hand in his and kisses his palm. ’Think nothing of it, I’m feeling better now.’

 ‘It was my fault.’ Horatio breathes, the remorse in his voice is palpable. ‘William, I’m sorry, I am so glad you are here! You were dead…’

 William is looking at him with concern now. He runs a hand up his hair, cups the base of his skull.

 ‘I was never dead. My skull is harder than you think’ he rubs the back of Horatio’s head skilfully, making him relax. The young man closes his eyes for a moment and sighs.

 ‘I had a dream’ he starts…

***

_’He loved the bird that loved the man_

_Who shot him with his bow.'_

 

 …Bush quotes amusedly after Hornblower tells him about his dream. ‘Horatio, your mind is a curious thing. You met Archie, huh?’

 ‘I’m telling you, William… He told me to to give you his regards…’ Horatio goes on, serious, he wants Bush to believe him.

 ‘I don’t doubt your word, Horatio, please don’t mistake me’ Bush assures his young lover who looks restless; the last thing he should be while running a temperature. ‘I’m sure everything you say happened to you in your dream’.

 ‘Then why are you looking at me so incredulously?’ The young captain wished to know.

 Bush gave him a lopsided smile. Hornblower knew he didn’t give those easily and certainly not to anyone. The older man kissed him without any explanation, but Hornblower didn’t mind; he placed himself closer to William on the pillow and gave himself up to him.

 Bush pulled away in a minute and got up from the bed. He walked to the table in the corner and lifted up a thin little book, its cover emerald green. He tossed it on the duvet so Horatio could take a look at it.

 ‘I was reading this to you, while you were asleep.’ Bush shook his head and let out an amused little huff.

 Horatio pulled his thumb over the golden letters on the cover. His mind was putting the puzzle together piece by piece.

 By the time he got the whole picture together, Bush was leaning above him in his shirtsleeves and was dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth.

 ‘The men are alright, right?’ Horatio asked, just to be sure.

 ‘Right as rain,’ William nodded. ‘Only you came down with this fever and now I suspect it is your conscience we can blame for it.’

 ‘I still feel dreadful about sending you up there.’ Horatio squirmed a bit as he didn’t like the cold cloth on his skin at the moment.

 ‘I think you suffered enough for it.’ Bush pulled the cloth away and used his hand to cool his forehead. ‘You made yourself suffer. But no more of that. Know that there are no hard feelings from my side. You are important to me, Captain.’

 ‘And you to me, Mr. Bush.’ Horatio smiled. ‘Archie would be glad to know we get along splendidly.’ he added.

 ‘That he would be.’

 As Horatio wanted to crack open the book in his hand, Bush snatched it away from him.

 ‘Uh-uh,’ he warned. ‘You had enough of the Mariner today. You need proper rest. When I come  back from the deck, I want to see you asleep.’ He kissed the young man’s forehead and left the room with the book in his hand.

 Horatio fell asleep quickly, and this time he saw gentler dreams.

 


End file.
